Unschuld
by LaughableBlackStorm
Summary: You never would have guessed that you would lose your best friend after a near-death experience. -fifth in Senses series


**UNSCHULD**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own CSI.

Rated for slash.

**Author's Note:** Many thanks to everyone who reviewed _Liecht__!_ Happy reading, and please remember to leave a comment or two!

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_Unschuld_: 'innocence' – German

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_Remember_.

Nick hasn't visited again. You've been lying in this hospital bed, staring at the white, dull walls for two weeks now, and he hasn't come by to see you a second time. You don't know why, either; you figure he would want to talk about what happened between the two of you, maybe discuss what he wants, what you want.

But what exactly _do_ you want? When he kissed you, something happened within you; something erupted. And you don't know exactly what it was or what it meant, but you do know that you need to see him again, you need to talk to him. You need to know what you mean to him. If you're worthless or not.

_Remember_.

You're staring at the wall in front of you, your bed in a sitting position. No one has come to visit you in several days, you realize. You are almost completely better, of course, so there's really no reason for them to come make sure you're still breathing, but… _No_, you scold yourself. You _cannot_ become so dependent on them.

Throughout your stay at Desert Palms, you have thought deeply about your job as a CSI. It's very important to you and you like what you do, helping the dead, but is it really worth getting beaten up and shot, all within a one year period? Besides, if you had been more attentive, more like Nick or Warrick or Sara or Catherine or Grissom, you wouldn't have gotten shot in the first place, because you would have seen the shooter move in the shadows.

Maybe you should just quit. All you do is make mistakes, anyway; it isn't like you're much help. You failed your first proficiency, after all. You aren't that good.

_Remember_.

Warrick is going to drop you off at your apartment. But you don't want to think about that, because when he told you this a week ago he also mentioned that Nick had wanted to drive you home, but he had unexpectedly changed his mind the day before (coincidentally the day he came to visit you) and asked Warrick to do it instead.

Your breathing stops every time you think about that. Nick obviously hates you, is disgusted by you. And now you don't want to see him or talk to him, because you're afraid of what he will say. Will he directly say that he hates you and thinks you're worthless and not worthy of being his friend, or will he go about it delicately, trying to softly let you know you aren't welcome around him anymore?

You squeeze your eyes shut and grip the bed sheets tightly, inhaling shakily.

You never would have guessed that you would lose your best friend after a near-death experience. If you had known this would happen, you would never have gone to that crime scene.

You want things to be normal again.

_Remember_.

It's been two days since you got back home. It's eleven in the morning, which means Nick would have gotten home an hour ago, and he hopefully isn't asleep yet.

You can't believe you're currently standing on his doorstep, wondering if you should knock or ring the doorbell.

You wonder if he'll open the door when he recognizes you through the peep hole, or if he'll ignore you, or if he'll yell at you to go away.

Swallowing, you bring your trembling fist up to the wood and rap quietly against it several times, each knock growing louder than the previous one. You hear footsteps approaching from the other side and you have an enormous urge to run so far away from this place, from Nick, so that you don't have to muster the courage to do this.

_Remember_.

The door opens and Nick's eyes widen when he sees you. Then his expression closes up. _My God_, you think in horror and self-loathing. _He hates me. He's disgusted by me_.

Why did you come here?

"Um…" You pause. "Hey there, Nick."

He's silent for a moment before saying, "Why're you here, Greg?"

_Why did you come here?_

"I just…wanted…needed to talk to you…you know, about…what happened, in the…hospital…"

You prepare yourself for the rejection. You feel it coming, boiling beneath the surface, ready to explode into the air —

"There's nothing to talk about," he says in a strained voice. He turns to walk away and shut the door.

_Remember_.

You don't know how it happens, but it seems as though you're watching it through someone else's eyes.

You're suddenly stepping forward and entering his house, slamming the door shut behind you, and cupping his face with your hands. For a millisecond you stare at each other, wide eyed, before you close the distance and your lips collide, sending rivets of excitement down your spine.

He responds a second later, placing his hands on your hips and drawing you closer. You're trembling, you realize, and for once it isn't out of fear — it's the result of stepping off the edge and falling into the abyss, and the magnificent thrill of it all.

He pushes you against the door — you slide your hands down his chest — he presses himself as close to you as possible, covering your body with his — you place your hand on his hips, under his shirt —

You feel as though you can breathe again.

_Remember_.


End file.
